Grounded
by A Darker Heaven
Summary: A series of stories written about the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from the beginning to after Sherlock fakes his death.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Grounded (Chapter 1: Grounded)  
**Authors:** **adarkerheaven**  
**Fandom:** Sherlock (TV)  
**Pairing:** Sherlock Holmes/John Watson  
**Rating:** R (this chapter)  
**Warnings:** Pre-slash, slash.  
**Spoilers:** Seasons one and two  
**Word Count: **4,564  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. The characters of Sherlock belong to David Shore and Fox Television.  
**Summary:** A series of stories written about the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from the beginning to after Sherlock fakes his death.  
**A/N:** This story was originally written as an RPG, which explains any shifty POV's. This chapter is not beta read.

**Grounded**

John stumbled out of the cab a little tipsy from the wine he had at dinner along with the excitement he had at the thought of getting serious with Sarah. He was smiling when he walked through the door, greeted Mrs. Hudson warmly, and continued up to the flat.

His smile faded, however, when he stepped into the room and found Sherlock exactly where he had left him hours ago. The other man was seated stiffly in the armchair with his violin lying slack against his side, wearing a look of almost painful concentration on his face.

Sherlock was a million miles away and John wondered if his friend was even aware he had returned.

"Are you alright?" the doctor asked carefully.

There was a moment of hesitation as Sherlock looked John over judgingly. He did not like the deductions he was getting from his slurred speech and the barely noticeable hair from Sarah's head on the shoulder of his jumper. His lips were reddened by wine and kissing and he smelled like a bar.

John shifted uncomfortably under his friend's diagnosing gaze. It was like being trapped under glass in front of his microscope.

"Fine," Sherlock snapped quickly before he lifted his violin to make the most god awful screeching noise he could with it.

John winced painfully at the retched sound and quickly covered his ears. "_God_... why do you purposefully make agonizing noises with that thing? Are you trying to wake the dead?" he protested, but he didn't expect Sherlock to respond. "Have you moved at all since I left? What are you thinking about?"

"How was your _date_?" Sherlock asked accusingly, ignoring John's other questions. He did sit the violin back down, but only because he didn't want to run John off now that he finally had him back. The truth was that he _hadn't_ moved since John left to go out. In fact, he was still in the same pajamas and robe he had been wearing for three days straight.

"Fine. It was fine," John told him just as shortly. He was aware of how much Sherlock disapproved of his dates, especially if they went well. He never asked, but he assumed it was because Sherlock thought it was a giant distraction from their work. Or perhaps he thought John was pathetic for attempting to make meaningful connections with other human beings. "You haven't left the flat for days, have you?" John asked, staring at his clothes or lack thereof.

"I don't have a case. What other reason would I need to leave the flat?" Sherlock asked resentfully, hoping to derail his friend's line of questioning. "You went out with Sarah again. I thought she learned from your last date that you weren't a good match."

John gave an exasperated sigh. Sherlock was trying to ruin this for him and he was too much of a sucker not to let him. "And why wouldn't we be a good match?"

"Because she's boring and she's only dating you because you are readily available to her," Sherlock answered as if it were obvious. "That combined with the fact that her parents are in town and she wants to show off that she snagged someone."

"That's not-" John began, but stopped when he realized that yes, her parents were in town. _How on Earth had Sherlock known?_ He chased any ideas out of his mind, afraid of ending any pleasant mood he might have had and thus only giving Sherlock what he wanted. "Nevermind. If you allowed yourself to date, you would understand," he muttered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his blogger. "Dating is boring and there is no point to it. If I wanted to listen to a woman talk about who's who on the telly, I would go downstairs and have tea with Ms. Hudson."

"Perhaps you _should_ go have tea with her. When is the last time you've eaten?" John asked, though there was no anger in his tone. There was no use taking anything Sherlock said too personally, even when he meant it to be. "Have you really never been with a woman? Or a... man?" he asked tentatively.

Sherlock let out a frustrated breath and picked up his violin, intent on making it scream.

John panicked and interrupted him before he could land the first piercing note. "If you are so bored, Sherlock, then you can always find a case. There are plenty out there. You should have a look at the blog," he insisted, holding back from taking the instrument and smashing it into pieces. At least he wasn't putting bullets in the wall. "Please, let me help you find one."

For reasons Sherlock did not fully understand, he always responded in the same peculiar way when John said please. He allowed his violin to rest at his side before glaring at John. "Four days, Eight hours, forty-two minutes… then I can get a case."

"What... why do you have to wait?" John asked, getting the feeling that he was missing something very obvious, and once again, feeling stupid. Perhaps Sherlock was doing it on purpose. "Are you... on lock down or something? Is that why you haven't left this room and have been curled up in a ball of self destructive misery for three days?" he asked, and when he got tired of standing, he leaned heavily against the wall. Perhaps he had had a little too much wine.

Lock down was a good word for it. "Mycroft didn't appreciate the Baskerville incident," he told him without further explanation. "Don't tell him I drugged you," he added suddenly, pointing the violin bow at John.

At the mention of that incident, John again became irritated. "Yes, I'm still rather put off by that, Sherlock, you scared me to death," he glared, remembering it all too well. "You remember how frightened you were when the same happened to you? I could not believe you would do that to me."

He would forgive him, though. He always did. Eventually.

"It was an experiment and I explained why it had to be done," Sherlock defended himself.

"It _didn't_ have to be done, Sherlock, and I am not your lab rat to play with," John insisted, trying to hold onto whatever dignity he thought he had lost that night. "Why didn't you tell me earlier that you were trapped here? I could have talked to Mycroft-"

"Do not talk to Mycroft!" Sherlock interrupted, practically jumping out of his seat to tower over John. "Promise me you won't call him."

John instinctively backed away from Sherlock, but being drunk and already against a wall, it only resulted in a loss of footing and he righted himself just in time not to fall down. "Why? Why shouldn't I talk to him?" he provoked, wishing just for once he could know what went on in his friend's mind.

"If you call him and tell him it's driving me mad to be _stuck_ here in this flat then he will have won," Sherlock explained impatiently, but his frustrated posture changed when John swayed. "Do you need to lie down?" he asked suddenly with something that actually sounded like concern.

John felt stupid again. He should have remembered how awfully over sized Sherlock's pride was. But his second question threw him off. He shot his friend a nervous glance that he sometime did when he felt confused and exposed. "No..." he began. "Well, yes, maybe," he reconsidered.

"You didn't sleep well last night and you went out tonight. You should go to bed before you fall over," Sherlock observed, reaching out to grasp John's arm as if he was afraid the other man would do just that.

For a moment, John was speechless from both the physical contact Sherlock had so unhesitantly initiated and the tone of his voice that was far too much like concern and _worry_. "You're kidding me, right? How long has it been since _you've_ slept?" he tried to turn the tables safely back onto his friend. "And eaten, and... showered."

Sherlock let go of John's arm and looked down at it as if he wasn't sure what it was doing there. "I don't need to eat or sleep as much as you do. You know this."

John's arm ached where Sherlock had touched it but not from pain or discomfort. That was when it dawned on him. The crumpled slackness and dirtiness of his clothes, though he hadn't slept in them... the flash of concern in his eyes that came as quickly as it went... the odd way he was speaking. "You... you're _depressed_," he realized out loud, with nothing other than amazement in his drunken eyes.

The doctor regretted saying it out loud almost immediately. Damn the wine. It always did make him lose his filters. "What?!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I'm not depressed. I don't get depressed!"

John looked down to the ground if only to stabilize himself and prevent from really falling over. "It's alright, Sherlock... to be depressed. But... why? Did something happen?" he asked timidly.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock repeated.

John leaned against the wall again and remembered his patience. "When are you going to realize, Sherlock, that I am no ordinary person to you? I am your friend. At least, I'd like to think so... and you don't have to convince me that you are not human. Now tell me if anything happened other than the whole... no-case-while-you-are-grounded business."

"I'm not grounded!" Sherlock shouted before calming himself by running a frustrated hand through his messy hair.

"Alright," John agreed with a sigh, because it was no use arguing. "Do you mind if I sleep in here tonight, then? My bed is lumpy," he asked casually, walking slowly over to the couch and tried not to collapse onto it. He did anyway. And although it was no lumpier than his bed, he knew he would be an idiot to leave Sherlock unattended while he was like this. And he was certainly not going to cause problems by admitting that out loud.

As usual, John's calmness stopped the tirade of thoughts that bombarded Sherlock's mind and brought him back to the here and now. "You hate the couch," Sherlock pointed out as he took back his seat in the arm chair closest to John.

John smiled and grabbed a blanket. "I hated it when I had my bum leg. Now I think it's quite nice," he lied, knowing that Sherlock would see right through it and not caring one bit. "Are you just going to sit there all night?"

"Yes... problem?" Sherlock responded shortly, pulling his legs up into the chair like an overgrown five year old.

"Not at all," John lied again. He could handle being under Sherlock's watchful hawk-like gaze while awake, but not so much while he was passed out drunk on the sofa. And that was when it hit him. "I suddenly... don't feel too well," he whispered, only to himself, because he had a habit of talking to himself.

Sherlock's eyes widened when he heard what John said and he stood up to grab a trash can and shove it into his hands.

John pushed the can away in annoyance. "I'm not going to vomit, Sherlock," he sighed. "It's my head. I'll be fine," he insisted, though it was not entirely true. Yes, his head harbored most of the pain, but his stomach didn't feel perfect, either. "I just had a bit too much. Won't happen again."

"That's what they always say. You know, alcoholism runs in families and with your sister being the way she is, you should take better care," Sherlock said, hitting on a nerve he knew was especially sensitive in his friend.

John's eyes opened and narrowed at Sherlock, hurt by his accusations. "You think I'm going to become an alcoholic like my sister? I am nothing like her, and just because I had a bit to drink on a date tonight does not make me an alcoholic!" he shouted. "You are just... just jealous, somehow! You cannot stand to see me happy!"

"That's not why I'm jealous!" Sherlock yelled back, but regretted it immediately.

John sat up a little unsteadily, his eyes glazed over as he tried to read Sherlock. He had just admitted to being jealous, but of what exactly, if not John's happiness? "Then what's wrong, Sherlock?" he asked again softly.

"Nothing..." Sherlock began, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "You just go off with these stupid girls and ignore me for hours on end and I don't like it."

John blinked. "I..." he stuttered, not understanding. "You cannot expect me to not go out on dates or be friends with other people just because I have become... your partner," he tried to rationalize. "Listen, if you wish for me to stay with you while you are trapped here, I won't go anywhere," he offered him, not knowing what else to say. He pitied him the same way he might pity a wild animal in a cage far too small.

"Don't do that, John. Don't pity me," Sherlock growled.

John lowered his gaze like he often did when he felt exposed. He felt frustration quickly rise up inside of him. "It's not because I pity you. You're jealous because you want me all to yourself? So you can experiment on me and drug me and make me fetch you tea and send texts for you? Because without me, you only have the skull?" he demanded.

Sherlock looked away. "You are more than that to me, John. Moriarty figured it out long before I did. Why do you think he took you in the first place?"

John sighed. He felt sometimes like he was Sherlock's keeper, and yes, his one and only partner in crime. His only friend and ally. That was what he assumed he meant. "Yes, I recall that pretty clearly. It still does not make sense why you would sit here and starve yourself and sulk in your chair. Even machines need rest."

"I will rest when I'm dead. I need a distraction. Distract me," Sherlock demanded.

"I thought I was," John answered. "And what exactly do you need a distraction from?"

"Boredom."

"You know, you could just speak to your brother like a normal human being and work something out. After all, you need to be able to do your job," John slurred as he lay back down on his back and shrugged.

"I _did_ talk to him and now I'm stuck here," Sherlock explained.

"Alright, then," John shrugged again, giving up on the impossible task of entertaining Sherlock when he simply refused to play along. And without another word, he settled down on the couch again and closed his eyes. A moment later, he shifted uncomfortably and restlessly.

Once he thought John was asleep, Sherlock fetched a thicker blanket and placed it carefully over him in another odd, random, and strangely affectionate gesture. His hand then gently smoothed his messy blonde hair out of his face.

Once he was sure Sherlock could not see, the drunk doctor opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling as if he would find all the answers there. The ghost of Sherlock's touch still ached on his skin. He knew that the only reason he did not react was because he was frozen in shock. He felt as though he were just given a new mystery to solve, but one he had to work out on his own.

Finally, however, John could contemplate it no more and he passed out under the blanket.

Even as the sun began to rise, Sherlock was still seated sideways in the chair across from John, his long legs swung over the arm as he thrilled from the effects of the drug.

With Sherlock's mind in overdrive and no case to stimulate it, the cocaine and heroin would have to do.

John finally began to wake slowly and stiffly, his body aching from the cramped position as he tried to stretch as best he could. He rubbed his eyes before finally opening them. Though the curtains covered the windows to shut them both out from the world, he could tell it was very early morning.

The doctor tried to focus his eyes on the figure of Sherlock not too far away. "Sherlock. Are you alright?" he asked, his mind fuzzy.

It took Sherlock a minute to realize someone was speaking to him. When he finally noticed he was not alone, he looked over to where John was lying with glazed over, bloodshot eyes. "You're awake," he observed simply.

"So are you. Have you been there all night?" John asked, forcing himself into an upright position as he rubbed his eyes again.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock waved dismissively before he fell to staring at his own hand intently as if it were the most fascinating discovery he had ever seen. When he finally lost interest and dropped his arm, he let out an outrageous and random giggle.

When John's focus finally cleared and he shook the sleep from his mind, he noticed what was suddenly so obvious. "Sherlock, are you... _high?_" he demanded.

"As a kite," Sherlock giggled again. "I don't really remember why I gave this up, you know. It's positively thrilling. I can _think_ in so many colors…"

There was only a moment's hesitation before John jumped off the couch and stumbled over to his friend. He knelt in front of him, his hands grasping the arms of the chair tightly. "No, no, no, Sherlock... you can't do this!" he exclaimed. "What were you thinking?"

Sherlock looked down at John in startled confusion. "I was bored and you were sleeping," he told him plainly. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm not stupid enough to overdose... not after the last time."

"Tell me where it is! Where's your stash?!" John shouted, but thought about Mrs. Hudson and silenced himself. He would not allow her to see him like this. The poor woman would never forget it.

"I used it all up. I was only able to stash away a bit. It's a pity, really," Sherlock answered thoughtfully, seemingly immune to John's panic.

When John realized that Sherlock wasn't even listening, he grabbed the other man's face and forced his gaze onto his. He looked into his eyes and judged the temperature of his skin to determine that no, Sherlock had not taken enough to overdose. "Sherlock, why have you done this? I thought you didn't need it, that you were better than this..." he tried when he released him.

"You only touch me when you're angry at me," Sherlock told him instead.

John was silent for a moment, not knowing what that meant. "You're not making any sense. Sherlock, if you needed a distraction that badly, you could have woken me up... we could have talked..." he sighed. John leaned the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead again nervously to feel for a fever.

Sherlock sighed and leaned into the touch. He could not remember the last time someone touched him with something other than rage in mind. "I didn't want to wake you."

John pulled away and stood up to look worriedly down at him. "I thought you were done. I thought..." he stopped himself when he realized what he was thinking and how it must sound coming out of his mouth. He thought that _being_ with Sherlock, sharing his flat and being his friend and accomplice was enough. Somehow, knowing that he wasn't enough hurt terribly.

"It's not your fault, John. Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed, knowing how John's brain worked. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

John shook his head. "I won't let you do this again. It will distract you from your work. From... from _our_ work," he stuttered nervously. He felt as though he had failed him.

"But I'm not doing the work now, am I?" Sherlock pointed out sarcastically. "Mycroft made sure of that... all because I pick pocketed him."

That was it. Even men with the patience of a saint and the discipline of a solider had their breaking point. In a fury, John began throwing random things around as he frantically searched for more of Sherlock's stash. He knew there was more, there must be more...

"Where is it?!"

"John! Stop!" Sherlock yelled, startled by the fact that the usually neat and orderly John Watson was making a mess.

John ignored him. "I need to find it! Where is it, Sherlock?!" he shouted, not bothering to listen as he continued to trash the flat.

"There wasn't much left! I used it all!" the other man insisted as he shot up out of his chair to grab John by the shoulders and shake him.

"Don't touch me!" John panicked, pushing weakly against Sherlock as if even the rough shaking was something that grounded him.

"I think you're having some sort of panic attack." Sherlock spoke so calmly for someone who was so high. "Breathe, John."

"I'm not having a panic attack!" was John's immediate response, because denial was always his way out of it. He continued to struggle against Sherlock until he felt the energy drain from him, and unable to stop himself, he leaned forward into Sherlock until his entire body rested on his in what wasn't an embrace but was somehow just as intimate. He leaned his head into the other man's chest as he breathed raggedly just as Sherlock told him to. John's body was running on a deeper, primal state of mind that wanted the reassurance of his body against his.

When Sherlock suddenly found himself with his arms full of John Watson, he didn't quite know what to do. "There, there," he soothed him awkwardly, patting John's back.

That brought the doctor harshly back to reality as he pushed himself away from Sherlock abruptly and refused to look him in the eyes. And yet all John could think about then was the way his friend felt against him: tall and lean but warm and strangely comforting, He distanced himself from Sherlock by several feet. "You... you disappoint me, Sherlock," he tried to find a way to reassure himself that he would never do it again. But there were no limits with him.

Sherlock hated when people said that to him. "And how exactly did I do that? You knew I was a user when you moved in with me."

John still could not face him. "I thought you had stopped," he explained. "I'll... I'll leave, Sherlock. If you are going to do it again. I don't want to watch you self destruct and be helpless to do anything about it," he threatened.

Sherlock's jaw clenched at the thought. He couldn't leave. Sherlock needed him. John had just used his best weapon against him. "I've been clean since before I met you. Until now, that is..."

"Yes, yes, until you got _bored_," John accused, his eyes still downcast to the floor. "And what did you mean by... I only touch you when I'm angry?" he asked tentatively.

Sherlock blinked at the sudden change in subject. "You never touch me unless you're angry. For you it's subconscious."

John finally looked up at him. He was aware then that he must be a awful state to look at, with his hair every which way from sleep and his clothes crumpled. "I thought you hated to be touched," he answered, though it was more of a question that John didn't know what he wished the answer to be. This was all very strange yet he could not bring himself to leave the room. No matter what he threatened, he was not leaving Sherlock alone for another minute.

"That's not true. I just don't like to be touched when I'm not expecting it."

John closed and eyes and sighed. "Alright, then, forget I asked if all you are going to do is avoid giving answers," he gave up as he walked away into the kitchen with the intent of angrily filling the kettle with water even as his hands still trembled.

"John." Sherlock grabbed John's arm to turn him around. "Don't be upset. I answered you. Ask me something else."

John was surprised by the physical contact and tried not to jump from it. "You're high, Sherlock, and I don't know what you want me to ask."

"Whatever you want. I won't lie or evade," the detective promised, because in his drugged up, genius mind, it would make everything right again.

John had to admit that he loved these very scarce moments when Sherlock became desperate to please him. It happened so rarely that it almost never happened at all, but every once in a while John could see Sherlock becoming human for him.

_Fine, then._ If he was going to be this way, John was going to take advantage. Besides, what did he have to lose? He was sure Sherlock would only lie to him anyway, just as he was lying to himself.

John turned around to find Sherlock surprisingly close to him. His eyes focused on his shirt collar rather than his eyes as he finally asked, "Do you like when I touch you?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered immediately.

That was by far the last response John expected and he finally looked up at him with a confused and somehow hopeful expression. "I-... what?" he stammered.

"Yes, I like it when you touch me even though you are usually upset with me when you do so."

John cleared his throat nervously. "And whenever you touch me, it is to restrain me or force me to go somewhere with you," he accused, because it was true, though the point he was trying to make was lost even on him.

"That's the only excuse I have to touch you. When I randomly touch you, you tense up," Sherlock told him.

John was overcome then. Staring with disbelief into Sherlock's eyes, he decided to put it to the test. A test to see exactly what kind of touching he meant to say that he liked so much. But his hand stopped halfway to Sherlock's flat, broad chest and pulled away. No, this wasn't what he wanted. He was high. He was just trying to get him to stay. He didn't know what he was saying. "This is just the drugs talking. If you truly feel this way, you will tell me again when you're sober," he decided firmly.

That was when Sherlock did something rash. He grabbed John's face, brought it to his own, and kissed him chastely on the mouth before letting him go. He stared wide-eyed at John for a few seconds as if he could not believe what he himself had done before he quickly ran off to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

John had been so stunned that he did not move or respond in any way except for the fact that his body went rigid against his, frozen in place as if he had just been confronted by a wild animal instead of a kiss. The simple yet intimate kiss burned against him and nothing could have prepared John for the almost violent shiver that raked through his body.

And that had been when Sherlock took off, leaving John shell-shocked and tea forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Grounded (Chapter 1: Big Brother)  
**Authors:** A Darker Heaven  
**Fandom:** Sherlock (TV)  
**Pairing:** Sherlock Holmes/John Watson  
**Rating:** R (this chapter)  
**Warnings:** Slash.  
**Spoilers:** Seasons one and two  
**Word Count: **6,847  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. The characters of Sherlock belong to BBC and Gatiss/Moffat.  
**Summary:** A series of stories written about the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from the beginning to after Sherlock fakes his death.  
**A/N:** This story was originally written as an RPG, which explains any shifty POV's. This chapter is not beta read.

**Big Brother**

An expensive looking black car slowed down along side an empty street. It rolled down its window, but John seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"John, I'd like to have a word. If you have a moment, of course."

It may have even sounded polite to someone who wasn't acquainted with Mycroft Holmes.

The doctor stopped walking and turned when he realized the car was for him. "Do I have a choice?" he asked rhetorically, but after a moment's hesitation, he slid into the car anyway if only to get out of the rain.

He did not allow Mycroft to speak before he quickly came out with what he needed to say before the other man could beat him to it. "You are destroying him. You cannot just shut him up in his flat! It isn't right!"

"He has to know that there are consequences to his actions. If I let him get away with one thing, they next thing he tries could be catastrophic," Mycroft said with a sigh. "I did not know he had access to drugs. My people searched the flat the other day but obviously they missed it."

He sounded strangely apologetic. It made both of them uncomfortable.

"What? How did you know-" John stopped and shook his head. "You have to stop spying on him! He is entitled to some privacy. And for god's sakes, you are not his mother."

Mycroft rolled his eyes childishly. John would have laughed in spite of him then had he not been so angry. "The last time I decided to give him space, Sherlock ended up living on the streets addicted to drugs. I will not make that mistake again. You've been living with him for almost a year now… you know my brother needs to be... _handled_ in a certain way."

"Yes, of course, but he is not a child!" John threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Look, Mycroft, I don't fully understand your relationship with each another, but I do know that you are in some ways making him worse. You must allow him to work. It is the only way he will not self-destruct. And besides, he has me now... and I like to believe it helps him to have me around."

Mycroft was silent for a moment as he stared at John intently. "I know he used you as an experiment at Baskerville and yet you have not shown any anger towards him since you have returned to London."

"I _have_ been angry, we fought over it!" John argued. "Listen, if you do not release him, I will find him a case and there is nothing you or any of your men... or women..." he looked over at the girl texting on her phone in the seat beside them, "can do about it. You cannot keep spying on him. It makes me feel... uncomfortable."

"He stole my badge, stole secret government information, and then got high. And you think letting him off the hook will help him?" Mycroft tisked. "If anything, I should add another week."

"You can't jail him. He never would have gone back to the drugs if you hadn't of caged him like a wild animal. Do you have the place set up with cameras?" John suddenly demanded.

"Of course, and Sherlock knows of this. It was in our agreement before he even moved into Baker Street. It was either that or live with me. Those were the only options I allowed him," Mycroft said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

That made John even angrier. "But it is my home too now, and I cannot allow it!" he shouted. "This ends now. You must allow him to be himself. The leash is only making things worse! Turn around and take me back to the flat!"

Mycroft let out a long sigh and gave the order to the driver. "Fine. I need to speak to my wayward brother anyway. I'm not giving up the surveillance. If it bothers you that much then you should look for another place to live. Especially… in light of recent actions."

"What do you mean, recent actions?" John asked, because he could not possibly mean the kiss. "I wish for my personal life to remain personal. It is none of your business, none of it," he practically growled.

"Sherlock _is_ my business. Anything he does is my business Dr. Watson, he is my responsibility, not yours," Mycroft insisted, and it was clear that he was losing his temper.

John turned to Mycroft and gave him a warning look. "Actually, I believe that now he is very much my responsibility. He is my friend and flatmate and I will not have you come between that," he ordered, and it wasn't until a moment later he realized how that sounded. He looked away from Mycroft quickly. "Just... just take me home. And don't follow me in, seeing you will only make it worse. You have... depressed him, Mycroft."

Mycroft actually looked alarmed at that. "Sherlock doesn't get depressed... he gets manic."

When the car pulled up to 221B Baker Street, John turned to step out of the car, but turned to Mycroft one more time. "He _is_ depressed. The problem with you, Mycroft, is that you don't bother to get to know your brother. He is not going to be your prisoner any longer."

Mycroft actually looked chastised at that. "I'm coming up with you," he decided, needing to see for himself now that his brother was okay.

John shook his head. "No, he does not want to see you. And he told me specifically not to speak with you, either, so just go off in your car and mind your own business. _Please_," he tried.

Mycroft reluctantly sat back down. "Fine. I will be coming by soon, though," he warned.

"Don't bother," John said as he made his way back to the flat.

Sherlock was pacing his bedroom as he had been since he heard John leave. He had miscalculated. He did not know what had possessed him to kiss John the other night, but now that the drugs were wearing off and the familiar withdraw feeling was creeping in, he realized his mistake.

The detective then felt John's reluctant presence approaching his door. "Sherlock, I'm taking down the cameras. You must tell me where they are," he heard his voice say.

Sherlock frowned at that. Since when did John know about the cameras? Sherlock flung the door open, his forehead slightly sweaty from the after affects of the drugs but other than that appearing perfectly normal. "You've been talking to Mycroft," he accused.

John stole a quick glance at his friend. At least the fact that he was crashing told him he probably really did not have any more. Sherlock was many things, but he was not a liar. "Not because I wanted to. He pulled me into his car and forced me to speak with him. I told him it had to stop. The cameras, the spying, the lockdowns... it is ending now… because I said so," he hurried, not meeting Sherlock's eyes but instead glaring down at the space that separated them.

Sherlock actually looked shocked for a moment that someone had stood up to Mycroft for him. "And he just agreed to that?" he asked disbelievingly.

John shifted on his feet. "Well, no, but I don't care. The cameras are going down, so tell me where they are," he demanded. "How are you feeling?" he added tentatively.

"I'm fine," Sherlock dismissed, pushing past John to walk down the hall.

John watched Sherlock as he moved past him. "You should find a case, Sherlock. There are plenty of interesting cases..." he tried.

Sherlock began pulling dusty books from the shelves as he searched for the camera he knew had to be there. "Lestrade won't text me until Mycroft lets him," he said bitterly.

John clenched his fists in frustration. "I'll talk to him then. And there are plenty of potential cases on the blog, if you would just take a look." The sooner life went back to 'normal', the better, and the sooner they could both forget about the kiss.

"I'll think about it," Sherlock said, and smiled when he found the tiny camera. He pulled it off the wall and tossed it to John.

John smiled as well. "Are there more?"

"Not that I've noticed," Sherlock answered, which meant there weren't any more.

John studied the camera before dropping it to the floor and stomping on it with his shoe. Then, of course, he swept it up and placed it neatly in the trash. "You should drink some water, you look awful," he told his friend, and before he could argue, John puttered off to the kitchen and brought him a glass.

Sherlock sipped it, but only so that John wouldn't hover over him. "I'll be fine," he promised. He was getting rather tired of repeating himself, but John seemed to do better when Sherlock actually talked to him verses when he ignored him.

"I know you will," John told him honestly. "When you sober up, we will find a case. Until then, I will stay here with you."

"You don't have to babysit me," Sherlock sulked.

"It's not babysitting," John disagreed, though he had to admit, it was a good way to put it. "We are a team now, and I just don't want you to fall ill. Besides, I didn't really want to go to work today, anyway," he faked a smirk, though that wasn't entirely true. He needed the money and he sometimes needed the break from his other job as sidekick to the world's only detective consultant.

But John could not leave him. He knew, though he may never hear his friend say it, that he needed him. He looked away shyly and held out the water again to Sherlock.

Sherlock watched the other man closely before snatching the water out of his hands again. "I thought we were just a team on cases."

John looked away, not knowing why that hurt. "Yes, well, you're my friend, too," he told him nervously as if he were unsure.

"Is that what friends do? Take care of each other when they are not feeling well?" Sherlock asked ignorantly, but the knowledge of the elephant in the room was stifling. "Friends don't randomly kiss each other."

And there it was. Once again, John was exposed and the tension rose so thick that he almost could not breathe. "Yes, I suppose they don't," he admitted. "Are you sober?"

"Mostly, unfortunately," Sherlock sighed, sitting down in the nearest chair and covered his face in his hands.

John, suddenly desperate to break the tension, decided that he had enough. Gathering up all his courage and energy and bracing himself for the worst, he stepped in front of Sherlock, took his hands away from his face and stole a close-mouthed kiss on his lips.

Sherlock stiffened immediately from the unexpected contact and pulled back to look at John. "Why did you do that?"

John felt giddy from the contact of those lips again on his though it was nothing short of the chastest kiss he had ever given. "You did it to me. It's only fair," he smirked before he turned and walked away as if nothing strange had happened at all.

The next night, John came home from work to find Sherlock predictably poised on an armchair. He shrugged off his coat and sighed. His job was becoming more and more stressful, not because of the worth itself, but because of Sarah. He hadn't asked her out again and had avoided any conversation with her since Sherlock first planted his lips against his in the kitchen. Suddenly, there was no need for someone like Sarah as there had been before. But it did make for awkward work days. He could tell she was losing her patience with him.

Sherlock, however, had decided to begin an experiment.

When John turned around to find Sherlock suddenly right behind him, the taller man snuck another quick kiss on his lips before abruptly turning around and flopping back down onto the sofa and picked up his violin as if nothing had happened.

It was like a strange game of tag.

John was stunned, so much so that he hadn't a second to react before Sherlock was miles away from him again. Somehow, just a simple kiss that could have been exchanged between family members made all the problems of the day disappear. "It's good to see you too, Sherlock," he teased lightly.

"I have two more days left before Lestrade can give me a case," Sherlock told him, changing the subject quickly. "And all the cases on the website are boring."

"You don't give them a chance, Sherlock," John insisted, playing along. "Why don't you go out and get some fresh air? Why don't we take a walk?" he proposed suddenly, worried that Sherlock hadn't seen the sun in days.

"I don't need fresh air. I need a case, a real case," Sherlock insisted.

John sat down on the couch beside Sherlock. "Alright, well, we don't need Lestrade, you know. You are obviously focused on something. You're working something out in your mind. What is it?" he asked, though he thought he knew exactly what was thinking.

Sherlock focused on John's face for a moment before he looked away. "Nothing... just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" John asked again, because he knew what he hoped it was. "It's obviously bothering you, whatever it is."

"You don't kiss your other friends, do you?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

John tried not to smile. He had been expecting him to avoid the question as much as possible. "What if I did?" he asked, just to see Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock looked sharply at John. "Then I suppose that you have kissed a lot of people." he said neutrally.

"No, not really," John admitted, surprised at how angry it made him even if he tried to hide it. "Just you, Sherlock. You are the only friend I kiss."

Sherlock seemed to ponder this for a few moments. John cleared his throat nervously. "Do you only want me to kiss you?" he asked tentatively.

"I don't know," Sherlock told him honestly.

For some reason, John was disappointed with that answer. That was when he realized the problem. Perhaps this all meant nothing to Sherlock. Perhaps it was all just another experiment. "Alright. You're just confused and... it may be my fault. I think I do need some fresh air," he decided suddenly, rising up from the couch and making to leave.

"You just got home and I know you walked from the clinic," Sherlock interrupted, not liking the thought of John leaving so soon. He stood up, leaned forward, and quickly delivered John another distracting kiss.

That caused the doctor to freeze immediately and for frustration to expand to capacity inside of him. "That isn't a real kiss, you know," he informed him matter-of-factly. That was the only warning he gave before he stepped even closer and landed his lips hard on Sherlock's, this time lingering. Sherlock gave a soft gasp of surprise as his lips parted instinctively against John's and his hands tentatively reached out to cup his face.

John, encouraged, leaned further into Sherlock and parted his own mouth to nuzzle his and shyly test the waters before he could hold back no longer and his tongue flicked softly against his. His hands, which were now shaking, sought to grasp something, _anything_, to stabilize him. One hand gripped Sherlock's arm. He had to do this slowly, _carefully_... though all he wanted to do was devour him.

Sherlock was a bit startled when he felt John's tongue flicker in his mouth and he pulled back to look at him quizzically. "Your tongue was in my mouth," he stated the obvious.

John did not allow Sherlock to move too far away from him. His hand clenched harder around his arm. "Yes, well... if you are going to insist on surprising me with kisses, I wish for you to do it right," he explained a little breathlessly as he leaned just a few inches further to nuzzle his lips with his again.

"Show me how," Sherlock demanded, and there was something sharply feline and predatory in his eyes then that made the doctor suddenly feel very weak in the knees.

John moved his entire body closer to Sherlock until their chests collided and lifted his hand to tangle it in his dark wavy hair. He pressed his lips against his again, slightly parted, and slipped his tongue back into his mouth to begin to show him exactly what to do.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut when he decided that _yes_, this was what he wanted. His own tongue experimentally sought out John's before he roughly pulled him by his shirt to bring him even closer… until there was a sudden knock at the door and both men quickly broke away from each other.

It was a rather loud, insistent knock.

"Fuck," John cursed under his breath. He swore to himself that whoever was at the door was going to murdered right on the spot for interrupting them.

"Language, John," Sherlock automatically chastised him. He already knew who was at the door.

John held his tongue against more curses as he stomped towards the door. He flung it open to find the very last person he wanted to see. "Guess who," he sighed to Sherlock.

Flopping down on the sofa, Sherlock rolled his eyes up at his brother. "What do you want, Mycroft?" he asked tiredly.

Mycroft took one look at Sherlock's puffy lips and flushed face and turned to give John a meaningful glare before he turned back to his brother. "I came by to see you. I was informed that you took the cameras down. I believe we had an agreement which you violated."

"No, it was my idea," John corrected him without fear.

"You do realize I could have you sent back to Afghanistan," Mycroft threatened instantly.

That struck a very sensitive nerve within John who in return showed it on his face while not trying to show anything at all. Mycroft Holmes had just gone _way_ too far. "No you couldn't," he told him simply.

Mycroft was about to say more when Sherlock interrupted. "Mycroft, I'm sure there are many other people in London you can be threatening. Lay off my blogger."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that, but something in the look Sherlock gave him had him changing the subject. "I heard you had a set back. I hope that this will be the last one?"

"I had a boring day," Sherlock gave as his only explanation.

Mycroft sat down in the arm chair. John was still standing like a soldier on guard. "It has been pointed out to me that I may have been overly harsh with you," Mycroft told his brother, not happy about admitting it.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed before he realized what was going on. Then, he smiled. "Anthea is angry with you. That's what you get for marrying your assistant," he teased him like the little brother that he was.

John sighed and decided to intervene again. He was not looking forward to a screaming match. "Please, Mycroft, we are trying to have a nice evening. Is there a real reason why you are here?" he asked.

"Yes, I can see what a_ nice_ evening you were having," Mycroft accused John angrily before he stood up and walked over to Sherlock who, at this point, was ignoring him completely. "You know I only do these things because I want what's best for you," he admitted to Sherlock quietly. When his brother didn't respond, Mycroft sighed and briefly patted Sherlock's wild curls and left for the door.

John opened the door encouragingly. "Thank you, Mycroft, have a good night," he dismissed him rudely.

"If you hurt him I will end you," the other man promised John on his way out, his voice low enough for only him to hear.

John was innocently surprised by that. "What- what do you mean, hurt him? How could I hurt him?" he demanded, taking offense even if he wasn't sure exactly what he meant.

Mycroft didn't feel the need to explain further and walked out the door without another word. John watched him go and continued to gaze in confusion at the door.

"John?" Sherlock asked worriedly when he didn't immediately turn around. "Whatever he said to you just ignore him. He's an idiot."

John finally turned away from the door. "Yes, well... I suppose I cannot blame him entirely. He is just concerned, I suppose," he shrugged, though his mind still vibrated from the kiss and his body still ached for more.

"He's not concerned, he doesn't get concerned. He is just meddlesome," Sherlock insisted. He stood abruptly and began pacing the floor, his robe flapping behind him like a cape. "He deduced that we had been kissing and it angered him for some reason."

John opened his mouth a few times, but at first, nothing came out. "He is afraid I will hurt you. That you will become... emotionally invested in me, and then I'd leave you one day," he explained. "But... you're not emotionally involved," he added nervously, as if it were only fair to assume.

"Why would you leave?" Sherlock asked, immediately focusing on the one part that worried him.

John rolled his eyes. For as brilliant as Sherlock was, he was quite dense on matters of social natures. "Sherlock, I'm not going to leave. Listen, it doesn't matter," he insisted, and gently took Sherlock's shoulders to still him. "Stop pacing," he asked.

Sherlock stopped and focused on John instead of his racing thoughts. "Okay."

John tried not to giggle when his friend immediately stopped and stared. "Focus on this instead," he stood on his toes to land his lips on his again as if he had been impatiently waiting for more ever since Mycroft interrupted them.

Sherlock relaxed faster this time into the kiss that was still soft and sweet but grew quickly to be more heated. John remained on his toes to reach him and brought his arms around him. "You learn fast," he teased lightly when he finally broke the kiss, his head swimming.

And that's when reality hit John and he began to consider what this all really meant. He liked kissing Sherlock. He liked it so much that it was starting to not be _enough_. He wondered what this all meant to his friend. Was he only doing this as part of some kind of social experiment? Was he in love with someone else, and with no prior experience, was trying to use John to learn how to kiss?

John frowned and did not lean forward for more kisses. "I should go put on some tea," he excused himself quietly and reluctantly slipped away from Sherlock to walk to the kitchen.

"Tea is your answer to everything, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, following him into the kitchen.

John did not turn to look at him. "I didn't know I was looking for an answer," he replied as he filled the kettle with water.

"An answer for all the kisses," Sherlock explained, sitting down at the table and steepling his fingers as he studied John. "Will we be doing more of this?"

John had to laugh at that. "I suppose I just don't understand. Am I your next experiment? Are you really that bored? Because if you are playing with me, it needs to stop, because I want it too badly to lose it later," he finally turned around to face him bravely, leaning against the counter.

"And what exactly is _'it'_?" Sherlock asked, still watching John closely.

John tried not to blush as he was presented with a question he did not know how to answer. He wanted to kiss Sherlock, strip him naked, and let him have him. But there was no way he was going to say that. Especially if it was impossible.

"Kissing, I guess," he shrugged.

"You are not an experiment John. Not exactly," Sherlock told him. "I like kissing you. I would like to do more of it."

John refused to believe that he was so special to the detective. It couldn't be true that after his entire life of being uninterested in kissing, John has brought the desire out of Sherlock. John poured his friend a cup of tea and placed it in front of him. He did not want to admit that he would surely drive him insane with his heated kisses and his light touches. "Alright, then," he concluded. "We should probably keep it between us. People will talk, and it isn't good for business," he tried to change the subject.

"People assume we are a couple anyway. What does it matter if they talk?" Sherlock scoffed. He didn't understand what the big deal was.

"It… it matters to me. We should keep our... kissing... private," John told him again awkwardly, talking down to his tea.

"You are embarrassed of me," Sherlock automatically accused, because it would not be the first time someone was.

John gave him a worried look. "No, no, Sherlock. Quite the opposite," he insisted, because it was true. He secretly loved the way the public had begun to look at them with adoration and fascination as if they were indeed famous. He loved being his... _sidekick_. It was exciting and brilliant. "I just don't want that kind of attention on us. I just want it to just be between us. Other people tend to... come in the way," he tried to explain.

Sherlock studied him for another moment before he came to a conclusion. "Ah, Sarah... I knew there was something," he said mostly to himself.

"What? No, Sherlock. I don't care if she knows, and lord knows she wouldn't be surprised," John admitted, because she was the one who tried to convince him that Sherlock was his boyfriend. "I just... don't care for her anymore. And it makes working there awkward. You're the one who told me to quit my job, Sherlock," he reminded him.

"I recognize that I am not an easy person to live with and you need to spend some time around… normal, boring people. I thought your job provided you that and that is why you hold onto it."

John sighed. "Sherlock, please don't over think it," he tried to end the discussion.

"Fine," Sherlock hissed childishly. He suddenly stood and stomped into the living area to plop down on the couch and turn his back on John.

John huffed, and a moment later, followed after him. "What's wrong, what did I say wrong?" he demanded, because he genuinely didn't know.

"Nothing. I just need to think," Sherlock barked.

Normally, John would have taken that as a sign to leave Sherlock alone until he came out of his mind. But this time, he couldn't let him go. "About what?"

Sherlock growled and tossed a pillow in John's direction with surprising accuracy. The doctor balled his hands into fists and dodged it the best he could. "Fine!" he shouted angrily, knowing that Sherlock would not even hear him. He walked to the other side of the room and plopped down at his laptop, opened it, and immersing himself in his _own_ thoughts.

It was another hour before Sherlock so much as stirred. When he did, the movement was so abrupt that John nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise. He sighed and returned his attention back to his blog as Sherlock began pacing the flat.

Sherlock had worked out the problem that was John. He knew he had feelings for the other man; strange, overwhelming, _terrifying_ feelings that he did not know how to handle. Sherlock really should have known this the moment stepped John out if that stall with explosives strapped to his chest. The way Sherlock's heart had about beat out of his chest in panic was even obvious to Moriarty.

"John, I want to do more kissing," he demanded.

John tried to hide his smirk as he continued typing, not bothering to look over at his flat mate. "You certainly are demanding," he teased, trying to cover up the fact that his heart had already begun racing.

"You knew that before now," Sherlock dismissed, rudely closing John's laptop and just barely missing the other man's fingers.

John did allow Sherlock to see his sly smile then. He would never admit it, but he liked when Sherlock was demanding. That was when he decided to play a little bit coy and hard to get. "I was busy, Sherlock," he lied as he stood up out of his chair and faced him.

Sherlock reached out to gently cup John's face while his other hand tugged him closer. "No you weren't," he said, kissing him lightly.

"I was," John argued, his lips against his, but he deepened the kiss despite himself. _Damn the height difference,_ he cursed in his thoughts_. _His arms reached for him, wrapping around his middle and drawing him closer.

Sherlock found himself making a peculiar sound that he recognized as a moan. He had never heard himself make that sound before. John was surprised by it, having dreamt of what it would sound like, but never expecting it to hear it. He felt his own knees begin to weaken. He broke the kiss finally to whisper, "We should do this sitting down. It's much better that way," he offered.

Sherlock growled and without warning pushed John towards the sofa.

John giggled and caught himself before he could hit the ground. "Wait! Do you want me to fall?" he teased as he walked backwards to the couch and sat down.

"No, of course not. My objective is not to have you hurt," Sherlock said seriously. He leaned over John and kissed him hard again, pushing against him with his own body to coax the smaller man to lie down.

John willingly fell back against the couch and desperately tried to pull Sherlock on top of him. "What is your objective, then?" he teased between the increasingly heated kisses.

Sherlock pulled back to look down at John with a bit of confusion. "I'm not sure... I like the sounds you make. I like being the one to make you make them," he admitted with brute honesty.

John wiggled underneath Sherlock's solid weight nervously, feeling his cock harden at an alarming pace. _God, what would Sherlock do if he felt it? Panic? _He continued to shift under him, trying to hide it, but only making it worse. "I wasn't aware I was making sounds."

"You make this little satisfied humming noise," Sherlock told him before his lips spread into a smirk. "And you are apparently very aroused."

Feeling exposed, John tried harder to wiggle out from underneath Sherlock, but the other man was deadweight and he was trapped. "I am not," he halfheartedly denied, though it was surely just as obvious to Sherlock as it was to him.

"Then what is this then?" Sherlock teased as he pressed his groin against John's, though he himself was not hard. He had superb control over his body, after all.

"Stop!" John gasped, because Sherlock had no idea that what he was doing was going to drive him absolutely mad. He was on the verge of embarrassing the hell out of himself. He managed to push Sherlock at least partially off of him. "What, do you not get hard or something?" he accused, though it really was a question that needed to be answered.

Sherlock had heard that question before when an experiment in college went too far and ended with Sebastian Wilkes punching him in his face and calling him a 'fucking freak' before then proceeding to telling everyone that Sherlock was the one to come on to him. "Not when I'm awake," he admitted. It was more than he had ever admitted to Sebastian.

"Oh," John answered stupidly. He felt like a great bit idiot. After all, he was needy and hard and ready just from a simple kiss all while Sherlock had only an amused expression to show for it all. His body was as unchangeable and as a-sexual as ever. The doctor felt stupid and unpleasantly human._ We do not want the same things,_ John considered in his mind. Sherlock was just toying with him with no plans of fucking him.

And John Hamish Watson needed to be fucked on a regular basis.

"I need to know right now, Sherlock..." John began in a defensive tone, "Is kissing all you want?"

Sherlock didn't like Defensive John. If John was defensive, the likelihood of getting anymore kisses significantly lessened. So he told the truth and hoped that John would understand. "I want you and all that entails."

For a moment, John simply stared up at Sherlock hopefully before he became defensive again. "Don't say that. You don't know what you're saying, and I have... have _needs_... needs that you do not," he finally decided to be blunt, but almost instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry. It's wrong for me to be saying that. I don't want to push you," he tried to apologize, and before Sherlock could reply, John was kissing him again.

Sherlock frowned and pulled away from the kiss because he needed John to understand. "I like when you push me. I'm not like you, though. I can't just flip a switch and be aroused. It's like with food or sleep. I never needed much so I simply trained myself not to need it at all. Do you understand?"

John wished he did understand. He didn't know what Sherlock was really saying. He knew all of it to be true, yes, but what was the message? That Sherlock will never become aroused except during sleep? That John will have to fall victim to random torturous bouts of kissing, but never anything else?

"Yes, I understand," he lied, though he didn't make it very convincing. "Don't let this go to your huge head, but I like you the way you are. You are brilliant and amazing and handsome and... well, you've heard it all before…"

Sherlock brushed John's messy blonde hair off his forehead. Now that he had permission to touch him, he had plans to abuse that privilege. "Only from you. John, you know I... I care a great deal for you and I'm not really used to it. So I most likely will mess this up numerous times," he warned him ominously.

John silenced Sherlock by kissing him hard and only pulling away when he felt dizzy from lack of oxygen. "Shhh, I don't care. I know you're going to mess it up... _more _than numerous times."

John still had a million questions, but he knew they would all be answered in time if he was just a little patient with him. Or _very_ patient with him. Either way, John knew that whatever it was between them was a very delicate and he wasn't going to be the one to ruin it.

John decided to change the subject. "You're just planning on laying on top of me and kissing me all night?" he teased. The thought both frustrated and excited him.

"There wasn't really a plan," Sherlock said, nuzzling John's neck as he spoke. "Can I do something to help with your predicament?" he asked, and John gasped when Sherlock purposely wiggled to brush up against his cock.

This time, John did not push him away. He instead predicted that there would be many, many long, cold showers in his future. "What? There is no predicament," he still denied.

"Your erection says otherwise," Sherlock argued as he sucked a bruise onto John's neck.

When Sherlock's teeth clamped down on a very fleshy part of his neck, John arched up against him and bit his lip to stifle a whimper. He had always been so very sensitive there. "I'm only human. You are on top of me giving me a hickey for christ's sake... of course I have a hard on," he muttered, finally admitting it.

Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like _'marking my territory'_ before going back to making absolutely sure that John had a very noticeable hickey. John would never encourage him by admitting this, but he loved Sherlock's possessiveness. It made him feel needed and wanted and owned. It also made him even hornier.

Tangling his fingers in Sherlock's dark curly locks, John pulled him back down into a kiss that was far needier and deeper than the rest. He pulled back to nuzzle his lips with his own as one shaking hand reached down Sherlock's chest to boldly cup his groin. Sherlock was still soft and unexcited. John's brows furrowed in confusion. "Nothing?" he asked, his voice small as if the thought it broke his heart.

Sherlock was startled at the sudden fondling. "It doesn't mean anything, John."

"Yes, yes it does," John argued shortly. "Let me up, Sherlock," he demanded, fully intending to escape off to the shower and wank off until he could think clearly again.

"No, I'm not done kissing you."

Though John with his military experience may be stronger, he was still trapped underneath Sherlock's tall, solid body. "Well, _I_ am done, so if you would be so kind, I need to go shower!"

Sherlock seemed to consider this and stood up to free his friend. "Fine. But I'm showering with you."

John took a bit longer to become vertical again. While Sherlock was perfectly composed as if nothing had happened, John's knees felt weak. Especially when Sherlock did the unexpected yet again and demanding that he join him in what was going to be a very secret and very short wank in the shower. "No, Sherlock, I need to be alone."

"Why? I've seen you naked and you've seen me naked. I don't understand the problem." Sherlock pointed out.

This was all happening so fast. The frustration was building and burning and John found himself saying the words he really wished he wouldn't have to. "I need to be alone... I was going to have a wank because if I don't, I'm going to explode," he finally explained as he rushed off towards the bathroom, his face bright red.

"Oh, well, hurry up," Sherlock demanded.

John did hurry, at least with taking himself in his slickened palm and jerking himself off under a steady stream of cool water. It took him an embarrassingly short amount of time to come bursting in his own hand all while thinking of the way Sherlock felt on top of him and the way his tongue explored him and the way he moaned.

He wanked twice before he felt satisfied. He remained in the shower after he was sated, rinsing himself clean and thinking deeply about this new development in his friendship with Sherlock.

When he finally decided to exit the bathroom, John found Sherlock in the kitchen. "What are you doing with those... human feet?" he twisted his nose in disgust. "On our _kitchen table_."

"Experiment," Sherlock told him simply, not even bothering to look up from the notes he was taking. "Have a nice shower?"

"I guess," was all John mumbled as he nervously cleared his throat and went to pour himself tea.

That was when Sherlock's phone beeped and he quickly snatched it up, desperate for a diversion. He grinned wide at Lestrade's text. "A case!" he yelled excitedly.

John was surprised and slightly disappointed. He wished that he could earn the same smile from Sherlock that an exciting case did. But alas, John knew Sherlock was married to his work and he was only his mistress. "What? You don't even know if you'll want the case..." he asked, though he was sure Sherlock was no longer listening.

"I don't care what it is as long as it means I can leave this flat. If Lestrade is texting me then it means Mycroft is letting him," he said while his fingers typed rapidly on his phone.

John was torn. Would this mean no more attention to him, no more kisses? Was all of it over before it could even begin? It might as well be for the best, John thought. Sherlock needed to be busy. He needed this case to breach out of his depression.

"Well, what is the case, then?" John asked.

"Serial rapist. None of the victims remember what he looked like. Only pursues male victims... are you coming?" Sherlock asked retorically as he headed to the door and grabbed his coat and scarf.

"Yes," John agreed immediately, because there was no way he was going to allow Sherlock to leave without him.

Sherlock smiled at John before dashing off, glad that he was going to spend time with both his obsessions at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Grounded (Chapter 3: A Case)  
**Authors:** A Darker Heaven  
**Fandom:** Sherlock (TV)  
**Pairing:** Sherlock Holmes/John Watson  
**Rating:** NC-17 (this chapter)  
**Warnings:** Slash.  
**Spoilers:** Seasons one and two  
**Word Count: **3,965  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. The characters of Sherlock belong to BBC and Gatiss/Moffat.  
**Summary:** A series of stories written about the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from the beginning to after Sherlock fakes his death.  
**A/N:** This story was originally written as an RPG, which explains any shifty POV's. This chapter is not beta read.

**A Case**

"Why do you need to speak to the victims?"

Lestrade had to speak loudly over the busy sounds of the crime scene. There was a chill in the air and a slow moving fog dragging across the earth like a ghost, making the narrow street feel eerie while lit up by police lights.

"Because they are lying. There is no way they could have not seen their attacker," Sherlock told the DI bluntly, but he was already bored with this case. There was no body, after all. He was suddenly far more interested in taking John home and making more bruises for him to have to cover up underneath scarves.

"The rapist is someone with some kind of power. That's why the victims admit to being raped but not to seeing their attacker," Lestrade offered hopefully.

John did a double take at Sherlock when he realized the other man was staring at him. He blushed, knowing that look in his friend's eyes by now as both amusement and desire and knowing that all the others were most likely aware of it as well. "What, what is it?" he asked, trying to bring Sherlock out of it and back to his work. "Speaking to them won't work. If they aren't going to open up to detectives, they aren't going to open up to you. You certainty aren't the kind of person that will make them feel safe."

Sherlock blinked as if he were coming back to reality. "Why not?"

John blinked back, surprised that Sherlock found staring at him much more entertaining than the case at hand. "Are you listening, Sherlock? I told you that you won't make them feel safe," he repeated.

"You're right," Sherlock announced, and he knew he had shocked every one listening by uttering those words. "You should do it then."

John looked awkwardly over at the detectives. "Me? No, I won't make them feel safe either," he shook his head.

Sherlock growled to himself. He did not like that this wasn't going his way. "I cannot help if I cannot speak to the witnesses... come along, John, we're leaving," he announced suddenly.

John didn't move even if his initial instinct was to follow. "Wait, no, Sherlock… aren't you interested at all in this case?" he whispered, not wanting the others to hear.

"Not really. Something much more interesting has come up," Sherlock told him quietly as he moved swiftly into John's space.

John instantly stepped back nervously. "Well, what is it?" he asked innocently.

"You, of course. You are very distracting," Sherlock whispered huskily.

That was when John finally realized what he meant. _Oh_. Sherlock wanted to do more _kissing_. As the responsible part of the team he made with Sherlock, John almost did not allow it. However, the look in the other man's eyes told the doctor that he would simply be a fool not to leave with him right now.

"Uh, we will be back. Keep us in touch, we will uh... work on it from home," John hurried to tell Lestrade as he obediently ran after Sherlock who was grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

John's heart was practically fluttering with the realization that Sherlock was this excited and this _happy_ over the thought of taking him somewhere private to kiss him. And more importantly, he had left the case for him. John tried to remain composed when they both stepped into a cab, but in the safety of the darkness around them, he reached out to grasp Sherlock's hand.

"Sally thinks I hit you," Sherlock mused, tightening his fingers around John's.

More surprises. John could not help but crack up in a fit of laughter. The girl didn't know a hickey when she saw one. "Oh, like I would let you! I didn't know she was _that _dim."

"She has a talent for thinking the worse of me. I _have_ hit you before," Sherlock pointed out thoughtfully.

John hated her. He didn't like the way she looked at Sherlock. The girl was mad with jealousy. "Yes, and I have hit you. And you bloody well deserved it," he agreed before he leaned in close to Sherlock's ear to whisper, "You know, you cannot just dump a case because you want to take me home and ravish me."

"Yes, I can. I just did," Sherlock smirked. "I shouldn't have let you get away from me earlier."

John wanted to jump into Sherlock's lap right then and there and ignore the cabby completely. But the press would talk and John didn't want this reflecting on Sherlock's work or reputation. "It will pass. The novelty will wear off and soon I will just be filling in for your skull again," he teased, though his true anxiety showed through in his words

"I don't think so. I consistently learn something new about you everyday," Sherlock told him honestly.

Finally, they stopped in front of 221B Baker and John untangled his hand from Sherlock's. He paid the cabby and slipped out of the car to walk unhurriedly with Sherlock following closely behind. As soon as John opened the door, Sherlock pushed him roughly against the wall and kissed him firmly, not caring that they were in the hallway and Mrs. Hudson could walk in and see them at any moment.

John welcomed this attack immediately, not resisting but instead pushing against him as he kissed him back. Sherlock was getting good at this... _very_ good. John loved the weight of his taller body pinning him against the flat wall, the way his long arms caged him in, and the persistence with which he devoured his mouth. The doctor stood taller on his toes to better kiss him and his knees spread instinctually to feel Sherlock's boney hips against his.

John finally broke the kiss when he realized this was progressing too fast in the wrong part of the building. "We should go upstairs, darling," he whispered when he finally pulled away from the kiss, the pet name flowing from his mouth effortlessly.

"I've never heard you call any of your girlfriends that," Sherlock mused. In fact, John seemed to never use pet names with anyone at all.

John had barely noticed. He tried not to get too nervous about it. "Well, you never allowed me to get close enough to them," he teased. "Come on, before I make you have me right here against poor Mrs. Hudson's hideous wallpaper." He attempted to gently free himself.

"I already have you. You are mine," Sherlock told him and possessively clutched at John's hips.

John was dizzy with those words. Never before had he wanted so badly to be owned. He nuzzled Sherlock affectionately and was half an inch away from another kiss before he remembered again where they are. "Upstairs. Now," he demanded, not giving Sherlock a chance to argue this time as he pried himself away from him, took his hand firmly in his, and dragged him up the stairs to the privacy of their own flat. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled along, responding immediately to what Sherlock thought of as John's 'Captain' voice.

John opened the door just as quickly as he shut it behind them. His lips found Sherlock's again immediately, more confident now in their privacy. But he wanted more. "My bed is a nice place for kissing," he suggested hopefully.

"Your bed is cleaner, too," Sherlock agreed, though he was a little hesitant. "The height difference is more manageable when we are lying down."

"Hey!" John shoved him playfully. "It's not my fault you are monstrously tall," he added teasingly with a gentle nip to Sherlock's bottom lip. He pulled him again towards his bedroom and turned only one light on, wanting it to remain dimly lit.

Sherlock tugged at his scarf to pull it off followed by his coat, his movement jerky with apprehension. John almost tripped as he clumsily kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his own leather jacket. He hadn't had time to change before leaving for the crime scene, so he was still wearing a simple striped t-shirt and jeans. Those, he decided, he would try to take off later. Impatiently, he grabbed Sherlock and pressed his chest against his. "You said you've seen me naked before. I don't recall any time where I was aware you had. When was it?"

"Oh, well, you weren't really paying attention...you didn't know I was in the flat when you walked to the kitchen right after you had a shower. I didn't see any reason to announce my presence," Sherlock explained as he felt his face heat up from the memory.

John laughed softly at that. "So you were spying?" he teased, and not expecting much of an answer, he reached up to kiss him again and tugged them both over to the bed.

Sherlock pushed John onto his back and straddled his hips. John bounced when he landed, his erection evident between them, but this time, he did not shy away. "Not spying," Sherlock denied.

"Fine, but you were certainty being voyeuristic," John pointed out as he gently pushed away from Sherlock to slip his t-shirt over his head and tried not to blush when he felt suddenly very exposed. Though he sometimes hid it well underneath jumpers, his body was firm and toned but also scarred. His shoulder ached to think about it.

Sherlock's eyes and fingers automatically went to it. "I observe," he corrected, and leaned down to kiss the mangled flesh.

John was somewhat put off by the fact that Sherlock automatically focused on his awful scar, but he had to remind himself who Sherlock was. He also had to remind himself that he finally had Sherlock in his bed and that he wasn't going to let anything push him away. To distract him and bring his focus back to where he wanted it, John cupped his friend's face and kissed him messily.

Sherlock moaned and allowed the distraction temporarily but pulled back a moment later to ask, "What do you want, John?" The tone of his voice had a level of arousal and desperation that John had never heard from him before. It set his teeth on edge.

That question surprised John, but Sherlock had always been upfront. He knew what he wanted, what he _needed_, but this wasn't about him right now. John pressed his body against Sherlock's as one brave hand traveled slowly down the other man's still clothed chest to cup his groin.

"For you to let me touch you," John whispered against his lips.

John was convinced of one thing: That Sherlock, despite all his strongest efforts, was human. Deep down and despite how he had so skillfully trained his body and mind, Sherlock could get hard just like every other human man on the planet. And John was determined to show Sherlock how to let it happen.

Sherlock shivered at the sudden touch. "Whatever you want," he promised.

John pulled Sherlock closer and practically dragged him on top of him. His own naked chest felt strange against the fabric of Sherlock's clothes and he wanted desperately to tear them off, but he refrained.

Still kissing Sherlock, John's hand lowered once again to the slight bulge in his groin and cupped it in his sweaty palm. _God_, Sherlock felt huge even when he was flaccid, just as John had hopefully suspected. The thought made him dizzy. He began to massage him gently through the thick layers of clothing. "Can I?" he asked a little breathlessly, worried that he might be taking it too far.

Sherlock wasn't as startled this time at the touch but John did feel him tense. "I say whatever you want and you just want to touch me?" he asked with a small smile.

John bit back a giggle as he continued to simply massage Sherlock through his pants. "Yes," he admitted. "This is what I want," he whispered into a kiss as he slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

John tried not to lose control when he felt Sherlock push against him instinctually as if he wanted this just as badly. The thought of unraveling the tight rope that was Sherlock Holmes and making him lose control sent shocking shivers up his spine. "We'll take it slow," he assured him as he slid his hand into Sherlock's pants and slid out his cock. Immediately, his glance lowered to it.

Sherlock nodded, speechless for once as someone besides himself touched him for the first time. John breathed heavily as he took Sherlock's flaccid cock in his hand and gave him an experimental stroke. "Just let it happen," he whispered, in case Sherlock was holding himself back from what his body wanted. "I want you hard," he added, wondering if that would get him going.

Sherlock groaned as his felt heat start to pool in his stomach.

John took his hand to his own mouth and spat into his palm before he returned it back to Sherlock and began to stroke him with a firmer, much slicker grip, though still slow and careful. His free hand tangled in Sherlock's curls to bring him down into a kiss.

Sherlock knew he was getting hard from those firm wet strokes. It was overwhelming, but he trusted John. He had to. He could feel his whole body begin to betray him as he started to tremble. Even during past bouts of experimental masturbation, Sherlock had never felt this kind of alarming pleasure that he felt now with John's hand on him.

His overly sensitive body ached as it woke from a lifetime long sleep.

John felt Sherlock begin to stir alive and harden, but he knew he was still fighting it even if he was doing it subconsciously. "You have a magnificent cock, you know," he teased against his lips, hoping to ease the resistance he felt from his new lover.

That got a breathless laugh out of Sherlock. "I did not know a penis could be described as magnificent."

John grinned and kissed him deeply again. "Well, yours is. It's perfect, I knew it would be," he added, still trying to work him into full hardness.

"I've never... I've never done this before," Sherlock confessed even though he knew John knew this. He was now fully hard as he tried to thrust into his fist. He was finally letting go and listening to the primal demands his body was making.

John smiled and gently bit Sherlock's bottom lip. He spread his own legs underneath him and began to stroke him harder and encouraged him to thrust. "I know, darling," he whispered between kisses. "Feel good?" he asked huskily.

"Yes, very good... too good," Sherlock mumbled into John's neck. His tone bordered on panic.

The thought that he was the first to ever arouse Sherlock and touch him like this made John even harder. But he ignored his own need to messily smear the precome that was forming at the head over the rest of Sherlock's slickened cock. At one point, he brought his hand up to his mouth to lick his fingers and taste his unique bitterness.

Sherlock watched him lick at his fingers closely. "That... that is strangely arousing," he found himself admitting. Sherlock was impressive while flaccid, so the sight of his large, solid, and finally fully erect cock made John's hand embarrassingly clumsy as it returned to him and stroked him harder.

"Next time, I'll use my mouth on you," John whispered directly into his ear.

"That… that can't be sanitary," Sherlock said to try and focus. He felt like he was on the edge of a wave and about to crash over.

John laughed and cupped his balls to squeeze and feel the heavy weight of them. "Do you not want me to do it, then?" he teased.

Sherlock groaned at the thought. "_John_... I'm..." was all he could say before he was suddenly coming into the other man's hand and onto his chest. The explosion nearly caused him to black out as his body tensed and released in such a perfect way that stars danced behind his closed eyelids and the loud, obscene sound that emitted out of his throat then was just _embarrassing_. He knew he would never be the same.

John worked him through it, stroking Sherlock slower now and feeling his cock pulse in his grip. "_Yes_," he hissed as he soothingly worked his free fingers through his hair.

Sherlock was panting into John's neck as his grip around the other man tightened. He didn't know why he had waited so long to experience this, but he realized of course that it was because he didn't always have John.

John continued to stroke him until he knew Sherlock could not handle any more and pulled his tired hand away. "Alright?" he had to ask as he continued to soothe him with his hand through his hair.

Sherlock kissed John's neck. "Yes, give me a moment and I'll return the favor."

John was nearly ready to explode, but he nuzzled him and said, "You don't have to." He was sure that at this point one simple touch from Sherlock would have him coming like a teenager.

"I want to make you happy." Sherlock sat up on his hands to look down at his lover as one gentle, broad hand ran down his chest until it reached John's groin.

John took a deep intake of breath and instantly arched into the touch. "You do make me happy. I loved watching you come… _god, Sherlock, I'm close already_," he admitted.

Sherlock's hand hastily unbuttoned his trousers, reached into them, and tentatively took hold of John's cock. "That's good, because I don't really know what I am doing."

John moaned. "It's- it's okay," he panted. He covered Sherlock's hand with his own and guided it gently up and down. "Like this," he showed him. Sherlock may be a virgin, but he was also a genius, and luckily for John, a fast learner. He gripped John tightly and stroked him just as he had.

John took his own shaking hand away and let Sherlock take over, moving his hips with each stroke and biting his lip to hold back from the orgasm that threatened to rip through him far too soon. He fisted the bed sheets underneath him and finally opened his mouth to emit a loud, high pitched cry.

Sherlock was startled by the sound, but his hand didn't stop and he instantly became obsessed with hearing more. John had always been quite vocal during sex, especially when he came, and this wasn't any different. "God, Sherlock," he breathed, loving the sound of his lover's name rolling from his mouth. "I'm gonna come," he warned.

Sherlock responded by kissing him hard. John pulled back a moment later to cry out and thrust up into his lover's hand and came for what seemed like a record length of time. Sherlock watched him come undone, his sharp, focused eyes taking in every detail. He continued stroking him through his climax.

John finally reached out to still Sherlock's hand around his twitching cock when it became too much. He was still speechless when he reached for his lover and kissed him. When he finally opened his eyes, John noticed the same amused and fascinated expression Sherlock wore whenever he had discovered something amazing.

John slowly came back to life but was still boneless underneath Sherlock. "You... you won't do this with anybody else, right?" he asked nervously when he broke yet another kiss.

"Of course not. Never," Sherlock promised him. "Your orgasm apparently exploded your brain if you think that."

John felt his face heat up. "It very well could have," he laughed. "I haven't had a good orgasm since..." he stopped when he realized that he probably shouldn't be telling Sherlock about the last time he got laid. "Uh, a long time."

Sherlock growled. "You are not allowed to talk about your past lovers when you are in bed with me."

John kissed him hard to reassure him and correct himself. "I didn't, I didn't," he apologized.

Sherlock huffed and his grip on the other man tightened. "You are mine... I can't let you go now."

John thrilled at those words. He had never allowed any other to get away with saying that he belonged to them. "I won't leave you," he promised. "Even if you are insanely infuriating at times."

"I know. I thought for sure you would leave after the hound case."

"Maybe I should have. If you ever try to drug me again, Sherlock, I swear..." John threatened.

The thought of John leaving him terrified Sherlock more than anything, but he was nothing if not impossibly stubborn and had never been good at knowing when to keep his mouth shut. "You'll what? It was an experiment. I had to do it to solve the case."

John huffed. "You didn't have to do it to _me _to solve the case. You scared me to death! I'm not your guinea pig!" he argued.

"You're right, I should have found someone else to drug, Lestrade would have worked," Sherlock thought, not really getting the point at all.

"You can't just drug people, Sherlock," John sighed as Sherlock twisted his words around. "I thought you were being nice when you handed me that coffee."

"I _was_ being _nice_... _and_ I was drugging you. But you see the two as unrelated... can you not be mad at me just after you made me orgasm?" Sherlock said very quickly, his words running on top of themselves.

John forced himself to calm down and shift closer to his lover. He was right. "I forgive you, even if you don't deserve it. Just don't do it again. You should know it's not a good idea to drug an army doctor with PTSD and put them in a rat maze."

Sherlock was about to argue further, but decided that maybe John could have the last say just this once if it got him to shut up. But he knew better than to make promises he could not keep, so he simply kissed John and whispered, "You should get some rest."

John pulled the blankets they had kicked away over both himself and Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him. "I should get some rest? Sherlock, when was the last time you slept?" he asked gently, because he knew it must have been a while.

"What day is it?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"It's Thursday. Will you try to sleep here with me?" John asked hopefully.

Sherlock had a lot of things he wanted to get done tonight, but he knew it would make John happy if he stayed. "I'll try," he promised.

John wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock, hoping that even while asleep, they would hold him right there. "What do you need to do that is so important you have to leave my bed?" he mumbled.

"Nothing," Sherlock denied. "I'm just not tired."

"Mmmm," was John's only reply as he closed his drowsy eyes. "I'm very tired, though," he admitted sleepily.

"Go to sleep, then."

John said nothing as he wrapped his arms and even a leg around Sherlock, insuring that he would have a very difficult time getting up and out of bed even after he was asleep. His body spent and satisfied for the first time in months, John passed out easily.

Sherlock knew love was a weakness, one he could not afford to have. But laying here, wrapped up in John, smelling his hair and feeling his heat, Sherlock decided he would take the weakness if it meant he could have this. Eventually he was lured to sleep by the sound of John's soft snores.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Grounded (4/?)  
**Authors:** A Darker Heaven  
**Pairing:** Sherlock Holmes/John Watson  
**Rating:** Overall NC-17  
**Warnings:** Slash  
**Spoilers:** Seasons one and two  
**Word Count: **5,118  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. The characters of Sherlock belong to BBC and Gatiss/Moffat.  
**Summary:** A series of chapters written about the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from the beginning to after Sherlock fakes his death.  
**A/N:** This story was originally written as an RPG, which explains any shifty POV's. This chapter is not beta read.

_Hello, John, it's Greg. Sorry to bother you at work, but I just had an alarming conversation with Sherlock that I thought you should know about... I'm pretty sure we somehow ended up discussing… the birds and the bees. Anyway, as if that wasn't strange enough, he got aggravated with my answers to his questions and said he was going to find a 'professional'. Then he stormed out. So if you end up with a confused prostitute in your flat... please don't blame me. Anyways, just a heads up._

John panicked and closed his phone right away as if the whole clinic had heard and tried to pretend that he didn't just get a very awkward voicemail from Lestrade telling him that Sherlock was asking about sex and then... _no_, he couldn't believe that Sherlock would contemplate such a thing.

_Lestrade was wrong_, he thought. Sherlock would never hire a prostitute and John simply refused to allow his new complicated relationship with the detective come in between him and his job. He simply assumed that Sherlock was causing a fuss for the smug satisfaction of tricking him into leaving work. Well, he wasn't going to play that silly game no matter how much that voicemail frightened him. He had his own table full, sick people to see, and an ex-girlfriend to avoid.

John left work on time that evening and didn't hurrying home. He had almost forgotten about the voicemail and was actually in a rather cheerful mood when suddenly and unexpectedly a young man who was quite obviously a male prostitute walked past him in the doorway of 221 Baker St.

The doctor was so shocked that he fell back against the wall, barely holding his body up from collapsing. "What_... who are you?!"_ he shouted angrily. His voice was undoubtedly loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

The young man stopped and turned to give John a sly smirk as if he knew exactly who he was. Though he looked absolutely exhausted and maybe even slightly stoned, he wasn't a bad looking bloke. It did nothing to ease John's fury. "Don't worry. I just got him ready for you," the whore said cryptically with a wide grin before he rushed back out onto the streets.

When John turned around to find Sherlock suddenly right behind him, he jumped and instantly slapped him hard across the face. "Get away from me!" he screamed into his lover's face as he pushed past him and stormed up the stairs.

Sherlock stood for a moment stunned. He touched his stinging cheek gingerly and frowned as he tried to diagnose just what the hell had just happened. A moment later, he was running after his lover.

John stormed into the flat and began to throw objects violently out of his way. "John, it isn't what you think," Sherlock told him as he watched his partner tear apart the living room. He took a step back warily as if he thought John might try throwing things at him. "I was doing research," he tried to explain.

John stepped right up to Sherlock and glared up at him angrily. "Don't talk to me. I don't want to hear it!"

Sherlock reached out as if to touch John but thought better of it and dropped his arms to his side. "I interviewed him… that is all. You need to calm down."

"I don't believe you!" John shouted, so angry now that he could no longer look at Sherlock or even hear what he was saying. "I'm leaving, I'm going out!" he announced. Sherlock instantly panicked and grabbed the other man by the shoulders to pull him into a desperate kiss. He was scared that John may not come back if he left as angry as he was.

For a moment, John was too stunned to react, but he eventually shoved him away. "Don't touch me!" the doctor demanded again. He looked away so his lover would not see the tears stinging his eyes.

"John, I wouldn't kiss anyone but you. I wouldn't be with anyone but you, do you understand?" Sherlock asked cautiously, needing to get his point across but not wanting to anger John further.

John shook his head. "You hired a male prostitute!" he shouted, because he still did not understand what Sherlock was saying or doing with the other man. "What if I went out and did the same, Sherlock?!"

"I hired him so I could talk to him about you... about us. I wanted to know how to please you sexually and I wanted an expert in the field," Sherlock tried to explain.

John shook his head again. There were _so_ many things wrong with that. "It doesn't mean that you get to experiment with someone else!" he insisted and began pacing the floor like an angry, caged animal. It drove John crazy knowing that this _whore_ touched Sherlock before even he did.

John abruptly stopped his pacing and stepped in front of Sherlock. The fact that he could never fully intimidate the so much taller other man only frustrated him more. "Was he good, then? Did he make you come?!" he growled.

"He didn't touch me and I didn't touch him. Do you really think I would do that?"

Normally, John would love the fact that Sherlock was being so kind to him, but this was not the time to appreciate the rare emotion in his eyes. "Even if you are telling the truth, why would you ask him? Why not ask me?!" he argued, but did not wait for him to answer. "I can't be near you right now, Sherlock, because I want to hit you again," he warned as he pushed past him to leave.

Sherlock grabbed John's arm and held on tight. "Then you will have to hit me again because I'm not letting you go otherwise."

John struggled against Sherlock's vice-like grip. "I said don't touch me," he hissed, but it was clear that he was starting to wear down. He was not going to hit him again, but he wasn't going to leave, either. Where would he go, anyway? To his sister's place? He cursed himself for his own lack of independence. "He said... he said he 'got you ready for me', which I'm pretty sure means-" he stopped, because he couldn't make himself say it.

Sherlock let go when he was sure John wouldn't bolt out the door. "He just explained things with words. Lestrade was absolutely no help and I didn't think the internet was a safe bet… and I'm pretty sure anything out of a prostitute's mouth ends up being an innuendo."

John glared into his lover's eyes, but this time, he listened. "Why didn't you just ask _me_, Sherlock?!" he demanded as he stomped away to the kitchen. Sherlock let out a relieved sigh when John began to heat water.

"You already know about sex. I wanted to know, too... and I didn't want to ask you something I should already know," Sherlock admitted. It was clear that he was having trouble putting it into words.

John waited impatiently for his tea. Was it possible for Sherlock to have insecurities? To want to impress him? "That makes absolutely no sense to me, Sherlock. Whether you are experienced or not does not matter to me." When finally the tea was ready, he poured himself a cup and walked off to his bedroom. "Just leave me alone, please," he ordered.

Sherlock let him go because he knew that tone of voice. He knew he would just have to wait this out, though he wasn't sure he had the patience or the willpower. He flopped down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, and a few moments later, he took out his cell phone. He fidgeted with it in his hands for a time before finally writing the text.

_I may have miscalculated. ~SH_

_I'm surprised you haven't done so sooner. Give him time to calm down and leave him alone for a few hours. ~MH_

Sherlock scowled at the phone and threw it at the wall, adding to the ever bigger mess John had made.

John always found that writing soothed him. That was why his therapist had encouraged him to start a blog. Though he did not intend to publicize this specific entry he was writing, it still offered his out of control anger a safe outlet.

It was a few hours later that John finally emerged from his bedroom in pajamas and a robe and shuffled past Sherlock as if he didn't even know he was there to begin washing his mug in the sink. He knew that Sherlock was many things, but he was not a liar. If he had gotten physical with that boy, he would have told him the truth.

"Still angry with me?" Sherlock asked the ceiling, not moving from his laid out position on the couch.

John didn't answer that question. He had one of his own. "What did he tell you?" he asked without looking at him.

"He wasn't very informative. It took me half an hour to explain that I didn't want sex and another half an hour to negotiate payment. I ended up with five minutes of crude language about where to stick my penis in different orifices," Sherlock said in aggravation.

John was silent for a moment as he leaned against the counter and finally looked over at Sherlock in the other room. "I don't want you to ever see him again. And I don't want you seeing anyone like him, either," he told him, his voice still shaky with emotion.

Sherlock was set to argue but what he saw when he sat up to look at John made him pause. "All right, no more prostitutes," he agreed.

John gave a quick nod. "I'm going to bed," he announced as he walked back to his room.

"Can I join you?" Sherlock asked after a few seconds of hesitation, unsure of his welcome now in John's bed.

John sighed and walked into his room without caring if Sherlock followed or not. "Fine," he barked. It may be good to have Sherlock next to him all night, after all. At least he won't be able to leave him to _talk_ to more prostitutes.

John ignored the other man completely as he shrugged off his shirt and slipped beneath the covers of the bed. When Sherlock slid beside him, John turned his back, closed his eyes, and tried to pretend he did not feel the pressure of his lover's eyes on him. He was still awake when Sherlock finally spoke. "John, how long do you plan on being mad at me?"

John opened his eyes to glare at the wall. "Why? Does it interfere with whatever plans you have? A case?" he accused.

"No, I would just like to know when we can get back to the kissing. I like kissing you, John," Sherlock replied honestly in a sweet tone he so rarely used.

John's eyes narrowed as he turned around to face the other man. "You don't even know why I'm upset, do you? I'm upset because I came home to find a prostitute in our flat that you hired. And even though for some strange reason I believe you when you say you didn't touch him and he didn't touch you, I think it was an awful thing to do. Especially because if you had questions, _I_ could answer them. Also, it is no one's business that we are... _whatever _we are, and I would have preferred it to stay between us," the doctor explained. He was still stuck in the Army's mindset that homosexuality was punishable. Even when he was sleeping with his fellow male soldiers, it was kept private. If the whole world knew he and Sherlock were lovers, it would hurt both of their reputations. "So I don't feel very much like kissing you anytime soon, Sherlock."

"I don't understand why we have to keep what we have a secret," Sherlock immediately argued. "People already assume we are a couple as it is and it doesn't stop women from hitting on you. You told me the night we first met that _'it was all fine'_ and yet you are obviously ashamed of what we are doing, otherwise it wouldn't matter to you who knew."

John grew frustrated with the way Sherlock twisted his words around to mean something else. "I'm not ashamed, Sherlock! If anything, I'm honored that you have chosen me," though his words were kind, his tone was still angry. "And women do not hit on me."

"Oh, please, you cannot be serious. You practically have _'perfect husband'_ written on your forehead and women sense that."

"I do not! I would make an awful husband!" John insisted. He wondered how they even began arguing over this in the first place. "You are delusional. I don't want to keep this a secret, but I also don't want to proclaim it from the highest point in London! No one will ever take us seriously if they think I am just your slut!"

Sherlock bravely wrapped his arms around John as if that would calm him. "Why would they think that? Maybe they would think I'm _your_ slut," he tried to tease to lighten the mood.

John pushed Sherlock away. "I said don't touch me," he warned.

Sherlock slowly pulled his arms back. He didn't think he could handle John pushing him away one more time. Getting aggravated, he got out of bed. "You shouldn't worry about what other people think, John," he snapped.

John only sighed. "Where are you going?"

"I'm getting some air," Sherlock said as he pulled his pants back on in angry, jerky movements.

John tried really hard not to show how put off he was by that. "Oh, so now you're angry at _me_?!"

"Yes, I believe I am," Sherlock answered simply, buttoning up his shirt.

"Why?"

"Because you aren't making any sense right now and I don't want to deal with it!" Sherlock snapped, and with that, he quickly walked out of the room.

John stopped himself from shouting abuse through the closed door and just allowed Sherlock to leave. He desperately wanted to know where he was going and when he would be back, but he refused to show that much insecurity in front of him, and instead, he stubbornly sank back down into the bed.

Sherlock didn't stay out long, just long enough to step outside and chain smoke in a back alley. Until now he had been doing well to avoid cigarettes, but this issue with John had shattered his resolve. He came back into the flat about an hour later, reeking of smoke and not knowing what to do.

John was in bed reading a medical journal when he heard Sherlock return. He had heard Ms. Hudson downstairs asking his lover if they have had a fight, but he could not understand his lover's response. Not expecting to see Sherlock the rest of the night, he went back to reading.

Sherlock had shrugged Ms. Hudson off and headed up the stairs but stopped when she added one more piece of advice. "Just apologize, Sherlock, even if you don't understand what you did wrong," she told him, and Sherlock considered this.

As soon as Sherlock entered the flat, he headed to John's room and knocked hesitantly at the closed door. John did not answer right away and contemplated remaining silent and faking sleep. Finally, however, he sighed and spoke. "What is it?"

Sherlock took that as permission to come in and he opened the door. "I'm sorry," he admitted quickly as he moved to stand next to John's bed.

John was surprised by the unexpected and strangely heartfelt apology. He did not look up from his journal, however. "You don't even know what you are sorry about."

"I'm sorry for bringing a prostitute back to our flat," Sherlock said, and tried to make it sound like it wasn't a question. "I'm sorry I made you angry," he added sincerely.

John knew how difficult this was for Sherlock, a man who probably had never apologized before in his life. "Alright, Sherlock," he forced himself to say. "Thank you."

Sherlock sighed in relief and bent down to kiss John on the cheek before the other man had the chance to turn away. "Goodnight, John," he told him, thinking his lover still needed space and intending to give him whatever he needed.

John reached out to grab Sherlock's arm before he could leave. He hated himself for what he was about to say next and realized then how helplessly whipped he really was. "Stay with me," he whispered, but took his hand back quickly. "You need to sleep."

Sherlock seemed to consider this. "Do I get a kiss if I stay?"

John rolled his eyes. "Just get in the bed, Sherlock."

Sherlock had taken off his coat, scarf and shoes at the door, so he pulled back the bed's covers and slid onto the other man's lap instead of getting in beside him. He straddled his hips and grinned down at the surprised look on John's face.

John squirmed underneath him and tried to shove him off. "Sherlock, I'm not in a playful mood," he growled, nervous about what Sherlock had brewing in his mind then.

"I don't like it when we fight," Sherlock said, plucking the journal out of John's hands and throwing it on the floor. "You can't introduce me to sex and then not expect me to want more."

"Hey!" John protested when he lost his reading material and squirmed out from under Sherlock, but when Sherlock's words hit him, he fell silent. "You... you want more?" he asked stupidly.

"Of course I want more, you silly man," Sherlock told him, exasperated. "You introduced me to a mind blowing experience, why wouldn't I want more?"

John stared up at Sherlock. "You want... everything?" he asked hesitantly. Did Sherlock even know the general mechanics as how two men have sex? Would he want that if he did?

That made Sherlock pause to think. "Maybe, I'm not sure," he said with a frown. "Are you a top or a bottom?" he asked curiously.

John squirmed again with nervousness. He didn't know how to answer that question. "I- I don't know... usually a... bottom, I suppose," he blushed deeply and brought the bed covers over himself tightly. "If you don't want it, that's fine, it's all fine," he said quickly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and kissed John on the lips, because if John was going to keep squirming in embarrassment, it was going to turn him on.

John allowed the kiss, though a bit reluctantly. He wasn't one to let problems go this easily. He was still hurt and a bit angry and maybe more than a bit jealous. But he was too tired to fight anymore, especially if deep down all he wanted to do was kiss him back right now in this bed. "I hope you know... I don't expect anything. Just... just whatever you want is what I want," he stuttered when he broke the kiss.

"I want you... I'm just not sure how I want you just yet. Can we do what we did last night?" Sherlock asked as his hand reached down to press against John's cock through his pajamas.

John wanted to. _God_, he wanted to. But if he let Sherlock touch him, he would lose all resolve and soon he will be rutting against him in seconds. He stubbornly pulled away from him. "Sherlock... I'm tired," he whispered.

Sherlock looked at John as if he were trying to deduce if that were true before he pulled away and lay down beside his lover. "Maybe tomorrow, then?"

John licked his lips and tasted strong cigarette smoke. "Were you smoking, Sherlock?" he asked, ignoring his other question.

Sherlock's eyes automatically focused on John's lips when he licked them. "Why else does anyone go out to get air?"

"I thought you were doing well," John asked disappointingly.

"I was," Sherlock protested because he hated when he disappointed John.

John turned onto his side so his back faced the other man. "Please use patches next time," he told him as he closed his eyes.

Sherlock couldn't seem to win tonight and he wondered if sex always made things so much more complicated than they needed to be. He scooted closer to John and wrapped around his waist hesitantly. John squirmed for a moment but allowed the contact. He hadn't been lying to Sherlock when he told him he was tired, though that wasn't necessarily the reason he turned down sex.

Sherlock stayed with him until he was deeply asleep before he kissed him on the forehead and slid out of bed. He was too wired to sleep tonight and he needed to finish the experiment he was working on. Hopefully John would be more agreeable in the morning.

John began to toss and turn an hour later. In his nightmare he was back in Afghanistan, the explosions deafening and the screams muffled. He could not get to them all in time, the bleeding soldiers. He began to sweat, to cry, and finally to shout loudly. And yet he was still trapped in his nightmare, unable to wake from it.

It was around two in the morning when Sherlock heard him moaning. He stepped away from his microscope to investigate only to find John thrashing in his bed. His first instinct was to allow him to wake on his own, not wanting to startle him further, but John's cries spurred him into action. He gripped his shoulder and shook him firmly.

"John, wake up. It's just a dream."

John resisted him, hyperventilating from the panic attack his nightmare had trapped him in. He felt overwhelming pain in his shoulder as he rushed out into the rein of fire to drag a dying body to shelter. In his fit, John scratched at himself and his shoulder so hard that blood clotted under his nails.

Sherlock panicked when John began to hurt himself and lifted his tense body so he was sitting up in bed. "John Watson, wake up now!"

John was pulled violently from the dream so fast he didn't know what was real and what wasn't. The flashback had been intense, the first nightmare he'd had since he met Sherlock. He woke gasping and confused and in pain and unable to focus on anything, even his own breathing.

"Just breathe," Sherlock soothed him, pulling John's hand away from his shoulder. "You're all right, you're all right," he repeated.

John's trembling hand allowed this reluctantly. "I've been shot," he panted.

"No, you're here with me," Sherlock told him, hugging him tightly and kissing his forehead. John finally began to come back to himself and his vision began to clear. The tears continued to wet his face as he tried to catch his breath, the realization that he had just had a nightmare and that Sherlock had pulled him out of it was starting to slowly dawn on him.

When he thought he finally had the strength, John sat up straighter and wrapped his arms around Sherlock to bury his face in his neck, getting as close to him as humanly possible. "I've got you," he heard his lover tell him as a hand rubbed his back soothingly.

Sherlock's deep voice close to his ear calmed and grounded him in ways John could not even understand. He gripped him tightly as if he would lose him, as he had lost so many, but Sherlock was _real _and here and not going anywhere. When finally he felt like he wasn't going to suffocate and could form basic speech, he pulled back as much as his body would let him. "I am _so _sorry," he insisted. He had never meant for Sherlock to see him like this.

"Why would you be sorry?" Sherlock asked, not understanding.

"For... for..." John struggled to put it into words. For what? For disturbing him? For forcing him to see him like this? None of it would make any sense to Sherlock. "I don't know. I thought it had all stopped. I..." he stopped for a moment to breathe. "I stopped taking my medication the second night I met you. I suppose this was just... bound to happen," he didn't even know what he was saying anymore, or that any of it made sense, so he shut up and clutched Sherlock to him tighter.

"You don't need medication," Sherlock said firmly, and John responded by removing his face from where he had wedged it in the other man's long neck and kissed him hard on the lips.

Sherlock immediately kissed him back, his hands rising to cup John's face as his tongue forced its way past his lips. He had become proficient at kissing very quickly and he planned on getting as much practice as John would allow. John kissed back desperately, his tongue sliding against his as if his life depended on it and his body slid into his lap to straddle him until their chests aligned and he could feel the heat between them. It wasn't just a distraction that he needed, but to know that he was alive, that Sherlock was real and permanent.

Sherlock's hands grew more confident as they rubbed down John's back until he squeezed his backside to pull their bodies even closer together. John was more than surprised when his hands squeezed him, but his body went with it willingly and pressed against his to encourage him further.

Never had John needed him so much as right now in this moment. He bit his lip softly in concentration as he began to rock his hips a little desperately down on Sherlock's. He sighed with relief when Sherlock lay back on the bed, pulling John down with him, and thrust up against him to encourage the movement.

John needed to feel his solid need against his and rocked down on him harder. He was shocked that just rutting against each other with all their clothes still on could still feel so _good _and _perfect _and _right_. John pressed his open mouth against his as he breathed heavily and moaned.

Their clothes were an uncomfortable barrier but also provided just the right amount of pressure and friction. John was too desperate for it to remove any clothing, but soon it was still not enough, so he began to frantically pull Sherlock's pants down to let free his erection while still rocking down on him.

Sherlock hissed at the sudden skin to skin contact and helped John push down his own pants so he could get an uninterrupted grab at his ass. John gasped and thrust his own erection down on his desperately. "I need you," he begged, though he didn't know what for specifically. His hand wrapped around his lover's cock and began stroking it hard.

"I'm right here... tell me what you want," Sherlock whispered as he thrust into his lover's hand.

John grasped both their rock hard cocks in his fist and stroked them together. Before he could think about what he was doing, he brought one of Sherlock's hands up to his lips and sucked his fingers into his mouth as his lover watched avidly. "Your fingers in me..." he blurted out as if he couldn't help himself.

Sherlock's eyes were glazed over when John looked into them. "In you? Oh... yes of course," Sherlock said, his fingers immediately teasing the cleft of John's ass.

John stroked them both harder as he tried to sink down on Sherlock's beautiful, long fingers. "Please," he pleaded.

Sherlock teased against John's entrance again before he finally pushed one finger into him slowly. John nearly cried again with desperation as he tried his best to relax against the intrusion. It had been a long time. "Yes," he whispered to Sherlock encouragingly. He only now vaguely felt the pain in his shoulder. After all, nothing was better at distracting him from pain than pleasure.

It was difficult for Sherlock to focus on this new experience when John was stroking their cocks with such determination. John arched his back when Sherlock experimentally added a second finger to the first and began to ride them. "Deeper, Sh- Sherlock," he stuttered, until finally he felt his fingers collide against his prostate and he felt a hot shiver run up his spine like electricity. "_God, right there!_" he cried.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise at John's reaction and he found the spot again. "Here?" he asked with a grin.

John's head was spinning and thick and heavy as Sherlock explored that part of him that had always been so sensitive. "_Yes, there, right there_..." was all he managed to say as his own hands began to fumble with lack of coordination. He was going to lose it soon, and as much as he never wanted it to end, the desire for relief was too much.

Sherlock's other hand found John's and he helped to stroke them both off. "Come with me."

John managed to nod his head as he felt his own orgasm rising in him like a build up of pressure. "I'm coming," he warned, tensing around Sherlock's finger as he bit his lip hard to try to silence himself. A few more thrusts down, and he was there. "_Oh, Sherlock._.." he cried as he finally reached his peak.

Sherlock came as he watched John, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he came undone. John collapsed against him as if his entire body had gone boneless. He buried his face in his neck, his limp hand still holding them.

Sherlock pulled his fingers out of John gently and rubbed his lover's back. "Are you all right?"

John ached as he slipped out of Sherlock's lap to lie beside him. "Yes. Are you?" he asked tentatively, not sure if he had pushed him too far.

"I'm fine," Sherlock told him, kissing John briefly on the lips and pulling the rumbled and neglected covers up around them.

John felt his eyes close in exhaustion. He wouldn't be having any more nightmares tonight. "Will you stay with me?"

"Yes, I will stay and watch over you," Sherlock promised him.

John smiled. "You don't have to stay the whole night. Just until I fall asleep," he whispered, though he was mostly there already.

"Just go to sleep, John," the detective told him quietly.

John passed out very quickly after that, but this time, his old ghosts did not haunt him.


End file.
